


Laboratory Conditions

by aftersoon (notboldly)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Time, Jealousy, Kink Meme, M/M, Post Avengers (Movie), Romance, Slash, Unintentional Matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notboldly/pseuds/aftersoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea was just to give Tony a little push.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laboratory Conditions

Laboratory Conditions

Although Bruce had always considered himself a scientist, he liked to think that his time spent as a physician had also given him some perspective on the human condition that his peers otherwise lacked. After spending time in Kolkata, Burundi, and Bella Coola, Bruce liked to think that the natural instinct of scientists—to compare human beings to other, simpler processes or more removed concepts—was mostly gone from him. And in many ways, this was true.

Sometimes, however, Bruce couldn’t help but think of humans, and of mice. A mouse, when confronted with a maze, very methodically found a way through it. A mouse reached its goal, mostly unhindered by obstacles. A mouse was predictable, simple, manageable…and humans were not. Humans didn't solve mazes; they created them. When a human was confronted with an obstacle or a wall, they rammed at it, pushed at it until it gave, and never even considered the alternatives. Many humans, anyway.

For some reason, Bruce felt like they'd all been beating their heads against this particular wall for ages.

"Stark! I said to _wait_!" The annoyance in Steve's voice was barely altered by the static of their headsets, and Bruce pulled his earpiece away, not particularly wanting to hear every word of verbal lashing that was coming. It didn't help; he had always had excellent hearing, and Steve was sitting right next to him anyway. "What were you thinking?"

"That it was time to rescue some hostages and catch some bad guys," Tony replied blithely, and Bruce almost smiled. Normally he would have, because normally Tony was impulsive but still successful on their missions. Normally.

"That didn't mean you had to charge in without thinking! We had a solid plan. Hawkeye and Black Widow were going to provide cover—"

"Yeah, yeah. And by the time you'd finished your song and dance, they would have gotten away. No need to thank me."

"They did get away!"

"Only the one." Of two, but Bruce noticed Tony didn't mention that. Pointedly, no one else did either; when Tony and Steve got like this, it was better to just sit it out.

"This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't—"

"Calm down, Cap. The big guy got him anyway." Bruce winced at the reminder, and Steve shot him an apologetic look. Bruce hated it when the Other Guy was brought into this, and besides, he didn't think the comment did Tony any favors. The Hulk usually came out only— _only_ —when something went wrong. "Bad guys dead, hostages saved, no undue property damage—where's the problem?"

"It shouldn't have been necessary." Steve's words were strained, because he was in the right. They all knew it.

"Yeah, sure." Tony sounded irritated now, the emotion carrying clearly through the tinny vocals. "You call me when you're ready to admit it was a success."

The sound of a sonic blast outside the plane was enough to shake the walls, and it was a clear sign of Tony leaving in a huff. As the only one who could fly now that Thor was temporarily back on Asgard, it was difficult to get the last word with him. Generally, this frustrated them all to no end.

This time, however, Steve only looked tired. He sighed and removed his headset from the loose flap of his hood, then rubbed his eyes in a gesture that betrayed his age.

"Don't worry about it, Cap—you know how Stark is. Has a hard time with orders." This came from Natasha, but Clint nodded along in agreement as he carefully checked his arrows for damage. Steve smiled gratefully at them both.

"I know. I just…sometimes I feel like he doesn't like me in particular. Do any of you guys see that?"

The silence that followed was answer enough, but Bruce took pity on him. "Tony doesn't like many people immediately, to be fair. He was still fighting with Thor until the day he left, remember? It'll pass."

Clint chose that moment to chime in, somewhat unhelpfully. "Nat says he liked _you_ immediately, Dr. Banner."

That was true, but despite what everyone seemed to think, this didn't mean Bruce had some great insight into Tony's mind. They were friends. They had things in _common_. But there was a large difference between having the power to convince Tony to try Tofutti and having the secrets to his complex psyche, and only one of those fell under the heading of "Bruce Banner."

By the look Steve gave him as they sat in silence—contemplative, almost shrewd—it was obvious that Bruce was the only one who noticed this difference.

"That's true," Steve said, slowly. "He did like you. Even trusted you when—no offense, Doctor—no one else seemed to. Huh."

Bruce almost heard the assumptions Steve was making, the spinning of his thoughts, and he was exasperated, just a bit; his hearing wasn't supposed to be _that_ good.

"Like I said: he doesn't like _many_ people."

The silence that followed that statement was heavy with meaning he hadn't intended, and it lingered all the way back to the helicarrier. Bruce tried his best to ignore it, but he still couldn't help but feel like he had somehow agreed to something far beyond his capabilities.

********

Stark Tower might have been the impromptu meeting place for the Avengers, but on a more general basis, the only people who lived there most of the time were Bruce and Tony. Bruce specified "most of the time" because Stark Tower had more than enough room to house a small town, and occasionally Tony took advantage of that. In the aftermath of what Bruce commonly thought of as The End (specifically to the romance between Tony and his assistant-turned-CEO, Pepper Potts) these houseguests tended to be whatever woman or _women_ Tony had brought home for the night. This wasn't always the case, however, and after a few months of that particular live-in trend, the people who stayed in the tower took a noticeable shift towards the recognizable. Occasional S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. A handful of Avengers, usually Clint, or Thor when he was on Earth. Sometimes, it was a rare scientist or businessman, or even Pepper once the fiery end had cooled. Not once had it ever been Steve…so naturally, it surprised Bruce when he emerged from the lab Tony had helpfully procured for him sometime around noon, only to find Captain America standing outside his door in civilian clothes.

"Er, Steve? Can I help you with something?" Because Steve wasn't the most social person, Bruce doubted it was a casual visit, especially with Tony being in Malibu. However, it didn't look strictly Avenger-related either, judging by the way Steve's presence seemed pale, far and away from the confidence he radiated when giving commands.

"Maybe. I don't know." Steve rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand before straightening, seeming to snap back into himself. "Doctor, can I speak with you over lunch?"

Bruce, who had been planning on skipping lunch out of habit, nodded and sighed. He expected something bad, naturally (Tony had been injured, S.H.I.E.L.D. was disbanding, another apocalypse was coming, something of that nature) and he was glad that Steve was at least feeding him in an attempt to soften the blow.

What he got was pizza (because pizza had changed very little since the 1940s and Bruce wasn't picky) and a sincere, serious plea for help. With Tony.

"It's not that we don't all work pretty well together," Steve explained as he picked up his fifth slice, the cheese stretching across the platter, the pepperoni following. "But sometimes…well, you were there last week."

Bruce nodded as he chewed and swallowed, less than halfway through his second piece. "Of course I noticed. But how do you expect me to help? I don't always get Tony's mind either. We barely agree on television programs."

"I know. But you're smart, and he respects you. With good reason." Bruce flushed at that, but it didn't last. Steve clearly hadn't intended it to be flattery; he'd meant every word. "I just thought maybe he'd listen to you if you said I wasn't so bad. Because it is that, isn't it? That I was friends with his dad and that I'm some sort of hard-ass. I don't mean to be."

Bruce agreed, on almost all counts. There was one thing he didn't agree on, however: he knew talking wouldn't be enough.

"I suppose that's a start. But Steve, he also listens to me about the merits of eating eggplant before he stubbornly refuses to ever try it. He needs to know _you_ , not just from me." Bruce watched Steve mull that over for a moment before continuing, suggestion gentle and easy to refuse. "Let's have dinner sometime, the three of us. You'll win him over eventually—you're a good person."

Steve smiled at him for that, the same way he smiled at all praise given outside of a strictly military situation. He was truly a nice person, and Bruce thought—no, expected—that Tony would see that eventually. Sooner or later.

Bruce and Steve sealed the deal by splitting the last piece of pizza, and Bruce thought, given their plan, that things were about to start looking up.

********

The first stage of their plan was implemented without difficulty the next time Tony visited him in the lab. It was under the circumstances Bruce usually saw Tony when they weren't working on some project together; he, Bruce, would be working, and Tony would come and lean back against the lab counter, elbows on the surface and legs stretched out without a care, arc reactor glowing and the expression on his face a smirk. The first time it had happened had been some two weeks before The End, and Bruce had thought that he was teasing him. Mocking him. Trying to drive him crazy through induced sexual frustration and sheer persistence. After months of that, however (had it really been over a year and a half since he'd joined the Avengers?) Bruce had come to decide that it was just the way Tony was. Tony walked like he owned the world; naturally, his attitude was the same when standing still.

This visit was no different from the rest, except this time Bruce had a goal in their interaction.

"Hey, big guy. Whatcha working on?" Tony peered over his shoulder, not that Bruce understood why; microscopes, even advanced microscopes, were still usually intended for only one person at a time.

"Deriving a formula for cellular regeneration, particularly Steve's. I used to think his cells just lived longer, were more tolerant to stimulus…but it looks like it's the exact opposite. It's fascinating."

Tony, normally interested in anything and everything having to do with Bruce's personal projects, had begun drumming his fingers on the counter.

"Uh-huh. Are you suddenly interested in biology now?"

"I've always been interested in biology; I just don't have a doctorate in it." Tony hummed thoughtfully, and Bruce continued undaunted, so far so good. "Besides, this is a particular interest—his metabolism is amazing. His cells are also the closest I've ever seen to, well, _mine_." Tony, who actually bothered to read all the details S.H.I.E.L.D. had about his teammates, probably knew the implications of that.

"Nice of him to let you take samples." The comment was neutral, which Bruce supposed was a start. He gladly took it.

"Well, Steve's a generally nice guy. A little serious—" Tony snorted at that, and Bruce ignored him. "—but still nice." Tony hummed again and shifted, nudging Bruce's arm companionably, and Bruce thought that enough was enough, at least for now; any more and he was in danger of sounding like he was trying to set up a blind date. "I assume you have something to do down here besides distract me from my work?" He pushed away from the microscope and gave Tony his full attention, as was his habit.

Tony grinned, completely unrepentant about his distracting presence. "Yeah. Do you like baseball?"

"…baseball?"

"You know. All-American sport, goofy uniforms, people running around a little square. Baseball." Tony looked at his sneakered feet, faux-casual. "I thought we could go see a game in a couple days."

Bruce, despite the suddenness of the conversation, found himself interested.

"Who's playing?"

"The Red Sox and…somebody else."

"Red Sox and somebody else." Bruce smiled. Couldn't help it, because Tony… "You hate baseball."

"You don't." Bruce glanced at him and he shrugged. "You were in little league, right?" Ah—background checks. It was thoughtful, for Tony: weird in general, but thoughtful.

"Yes, I was." He'd lost his temper back then too, although the reasons and results were different. "I'd love to go. Whatever the occasion is." Bruce assumed it was business mingling, or something similar. He had no doubt all would be revealed eventually, because Tony couldn't keep most secrets to save his life. Still.

It was…nice. Bruce felt justified in all his planning, because if Tony was just as capable of being nice as anyone, he would have to get along with Steve _eventually_.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with giving him a little push.

********

The first stage of the plan had been in place for approximately three weeks before Bruce deemed it necessary to proceed to stage two: forced but buffered interaction. All the signs of partial success were there: Tony accepting Bruce's comments with neutrality, the gradual lessening of hostilities between Iron Man and the captain, the lack of tension in general Avengers meetings, and the faint but teasing remarks of one Tony Stark finally being directed towards Steve. By all accounts, the small comments Bruce made had had a marked improvement on team relations, but naturally, there was still more work to be done. When the first step of an study was completed and the results compiled, you were supposed to move onto the next.

Of course, that the next step was inevitable was Bruce's main line of reasoning; the second reason was that Bruce was finding his part in the entire endeavor nothing short of exhausting. He liked Steve. He thought Steve was a genuinely nice guy, a good leader, a decent and honorable man, an idol and a hero. But no matter how much he might have gotten along with or admired Steve personally, praise wasn't something that came easily to Dr. Banner. He talked about theories, things, and ideas; very rarely did he talk about people, much less offer frequent (if honest) praise. By the time Tony began to show noticeable improvement in his reactions to Steve, Bruce had nearly ran out of things to say. How often could he say someone was nice, polite, honest, good? Three weeks was about his limit, even if he knew realistically that the harder part was yet to come.

True to plan, stage two worked just fine…at least initially. When Bruce suggested that the three of them have dinner, maybe watch a movie, Tony was surprised and a little disbelieving, but he agreed. The actual evening went well, although Bruce was a bit too distracted by his own role in the center of the couch to notice many of the details (the movie had dancing in it, he remembered that much). Overall, there were no explosions, no open conflicts, no problems. It was doubtful that Tony and Steve were going to become the best of friends in the near future, but at least they could become better teammates, even come to respect the other's differences. When Steve offered, hesitantly, the suggestion that they do this again sometime, Tony agreed readily enough, and Bruce was proud.

Bruce was feeling good about the entire plan, in fact, when everything abruptly went haywire.

It was a Tuesday. Bruce knew this because that was Pepper's day off, and he distinctly remembered her absence, the lack of the one person who understood Tony inside and out. He was in the lab examining new equipment and thinking to himself that Tony was shameless because Stark Industries didn't even work in optics and he had no need for an entire micro-optic fabrication system just because Bruce had broken _one_ microscope lens, but the entire experience was relaxing overall in addition to amusing. Tony was propped up in a stool, being brilliant and useless and snarky as per usual, and Bruce had the thought that this was what he would have called happiness. He still had things he wanted in life—he was no saint, and sometimes he wanted things he could never, ever have—but this, this was enough for him. Most days.

"Hey, Bruce? Do you want to go to lunch?" Tony asked, and that should have seemed odd enough. Tony rarely asked for anything, except for one memorable occasion with baseball and the appearance of opera tickets not three days later (big surprise, but Bruce didn't like opera. Or the Other Guy didn't, rather.) This—a lunch invitation—was nothing like baseball or opera.

But Bruce didn't look up, distracted as he was by his rummaging.

"No, thanks. I'm having lunch with Steve." Bruce found what he was looking for, an inventory book for the small parts stored in the largest box of packing peanuts, and then he paused in the silence. He turned and saw Tony watching him, a bit more focused than he usually was, leaning on his elbows with eyes narrowed. The arc reactor cast shadows on his face, making him look almost ominous.

"Lunch with Steve?"

"That's right." Bruce normally would have invited Tony along, but considering _why_ he was having lunch with Steve in the first place—to report on the progress with Tony, mainly—it seemed like that might not be the best idea. "I thought it would be good to catch up."

"You saw him yesterday. He was over for that god-awful imitation ice cream you like."

"Er…yes?" Bruce wasn't sure where Tony was going with that statement, or why he sounded suspicious. "I like Steve, you know that. Besides, I could use a break. God knows who packed this equipment, but it wasn't a self-respecting scientist."

"Yeah, okay, sure. Have fun with the Cap." The comment was accepting, polite. Neither of these things were reactions Bruce typically associated with Tony, but before he could ask— _what's wrong? It bothers me when you're upset, I'm your friend, you know that_ —Tony left the room.

Things only got weirder. Or worse, more accurately. Bruce didn't know what to make of it, but every bit of ground they'd won was gone, every harmless joke and every kind comment seemingly evaporated. Bruce tried to counteract whatever strange change had come over Tony—more praise, more suggestions, and Bruce had taken to eating with Steve several times a week to discuss new strategies—but all that seemed to do was make Tony even more hostile. Rather than deliberate disobedience on missions, now he sat silent and sullen. When his mask wasn't on, he glared at everyone, but especially Steve…and Bruce.

Tony was back to disliking Steve, hating him even, and no one understood why.

********

Bruce would like to say that Tony's mood lasted only a few weeks, and that it was cured when Bruce miraculously found the solution. He would like to say that, because at his heart he was a fixer and he disliked seeing anyone unhappy or hurt, most especially Tony. He would like to say many things, the first of all being "sorry"—whatever Tony was mad about, it clearly included Bruce, and Bruce thought that was as good of place to start as any. But it didn't matter what Bruce wanted to say, because Tony could be hell to deal with at times, and easy in his anger he wasn't.

Tony was avoiding them all; this was made very clear by both his absence and the tabloids, the snippy gossip articles that placed him in Malibu, Los Angeles, Chicago, St. Louis, and Denver all in a matter of days and for reasons that didn't look business related. Bruce doubted even S.H.I.E.L.D. would have been able to follow him on his jaunt across the country if they'd been so inclined, and for the members of the Avengers without billions of dollars at their fingertips, this was next to impossible. Clint, upon noticing Bruce's distress with eyes that saw far too much, offered to tail him; Bruce said no but that he appreciated it, and he wondered why everyone always looked at him like he was Tony's keeper. He wasn't. They were friends, or had been. Bruce wondered when— _why_ —that had changed.

Neither Pepper nor JARVIS seemed to have a clue. According to Pepper, Tony had seemed happier these past few months, but now he was having "something of a depression." According to JARVIS, Tony had shown a noticeable increase in serotonin production since the formation of the Avengers, and had spent the last few days occasionally making calls to Stark Tower, only to hang up before they went through. According to both, it was at least apparent that he hadn't relapsed into his normal medication of alcohol and strange women, so whatever it was, it wasn't Obadiah Stane bad, or "troubling lack of purpose" bad. This relieved Bruce not at all.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, rather—the villains of the world didn't seem to sympathize with Tony's need for privacy. Doctor Doom had recently resurfaced, bringing with him a chemical bomb and an army of robots. That on its own was bad enough, but once the Hulk took out the bulk of the army and Natasha and Clint found the scientists responsible, it became clear that Tony had other ideas about letting Doctor Doom escape.

Steve told him to stop. Even explained why a man who controls electricity and a man who needs a very particular sort of energy to live shouldn't clash, suit or no. This wasn't Thor's lightening; this was complete control of energy. The explanation didn't help.

Bruce, already weak and changed back, watched Tony fall from the sky.

********

Because the Iron Man suit was nothing if not durable and the fall was not as substantial as it seemed to his teammates who couldn't help him, Tony survived without any injuries more serious than bruises. Because Tony was still Tony, even while lying on the ground, he brushed off the incident as just another in a series of long shots that didn't pan out, just a minor failed experiment, just an accident. Normally, Bruce would have accepted the explanation and jokes that followed. Normally, Bruce would have even laughed quietly at his side. This time, Bruce looked at them all.

At Hawkeye, who had his grappler arrow still embedded in the side of a building, a last attempt to slow Tony's fall. At Black Widow, who looked cold and fierce at everything except Tony, lying on the ground. At Captain America, who looked like he might shatter from relief at not losing another soldier. At himself, because the Hulk hadn't been there to catch Tony, not this time. Because Tony wouldn't _listen._ Because Tony let personal feelings make him foolish, make him impulsive, make him attempt to prove something that had already been proven many times. Tony was already a hero, but for some reason he had relapsed back into his belief that he wasn't.

The entire event made Bruce angry. Very, very angry. So much so that when Tony attempted to skulk away, to lick his wounds and continue to hide from them all, Bruce quickly found his clothes and caught him by the arm in a deliberate violation of personal space that went against his nature. Uncharacteristically, Tony didn't shrug him off. Didn't struggle when Bruce dragged him the four blocks back to Stark Tower without a word. Didn't say anything.

When Bruce reached the lobby, he dropped Tony's arm with a fair display of disgust. The few employees still remaining wisely disappeared from view, leaving the floor empty enough.

"What _the hell_ were you thinking, Tony? Or weren't you? Do you want to get yourself _killed_?" Tony feigned indifference, and Bruce ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He didn't know what else to say. What else he _could_ say.

Didn't Tony know he was important?

"Your eyes are green. That's interesting."

Bruce shuddered and forced himself to calm down. Not out of the danger zone (he knew his own body enough to know that transforming into the Hulk again and so soon was not possible) but to _focus_ , because Tony was here, and Tony was probably more hurt than he'd let on.

"Take the armor off, Tony." Tony looked like he was going to resist that, so Bruce tried reason as he calmly went and called for the elevator, which came immediately. "It's not flying capable right now anyway."

Tony scoffed at that and joined him. The elevator warned about maximum weight exceeded, but it was easily overridden.

"You're probably right about that—JARVIS kicked off six or seven minutes ago, the quitter."

They remained in silence until the 80th floor, the residence floor for Tony, Bruce, and other Avengers when they chose. At the moment, it was deserted, but Bruce led Tony into the large master suite and locked the door anyway. He made the assumption, perhaps hastily, that Tony wasn't going to flee or do anything stupid while he scavenged for the medical kit.

It took precious minutes, but when he returned, Tony was sitting calmly on a plush sofa, sans Iron Man suit. Bruce took one step towards him and Tony shifted, pulling off his shirt with careful movements and revealing a mottled expanse of bruises and scrapes surrounding the glowing arc reactor. Bruce hesitated, and Tony looked away.

"Well? Do your doctoring; I've got things to do."

"Not at the moment you don't." Bruce sighed and sat down, then looked at one bruise in particular with a distinct linear shape. He pressed lightly on the edge. "Does this hurt?"

"Nope. Tickles though." It was said with a smile, a normal Tony smile, and Bruce had _missed_ that. He began cleaning scrapes, his concern about a possible cracked rib averted. His eyes stayed trained on his task, on the skin below metal.

"Breathing troubles?"

Tony looked at him. Bruce felt the weight of it on the back of his neck as he concentrated.

"Some. Not injury-related, though, I promise."

Bruce took him at his word, because the injuries were clearly not as bad as he'd feared. Barely needed bandaging, but Bruce was careful regardless. He might have touched more skin than was strictly necessary, fanning his hands out along muscles, and—yes, there it was: a hitch in breathing.

Bruce calmly began putting the supplies away.

"Feeling any guilt?"

"Not at all, Doctor. Are we playing twenty questions?"

"Maybe." Bruce sighed and angled his head, trying to catch Tony's eyes. Trying to smile encouragingly. "What's the point of having a building with your name on it if you're never there?"

"Good place to store my stuff. Spare suits, spare scientists, things like that." The last comment was intentionally mean although the tone was casual. Bruce felt it land, a successful blow. He'd been expecting it.

"Tony, you can't avoid us forever. I don’t even know _why_ you're avoiding us. I thought you and Steve were getting along. Reaching an accord?"

Tony snorted. " _Steve_. Yeah, we're chums." Tony reached for his shirt and mumbled something that sounded like _I'd like him more if he didn't steal my scientist._ Bruce doubted he was supposed to hear that. Normally, he would have thought he'd misheard…but a lot of things that hadn't made sense were starting to.

Besides, he had always had excellent hearing.

"Tony. Are you…jealous? Of Steve?" Tony didn't answer, not even with a quick one-liner. Bruce pushed. "Are you?"

Tony huffed and finally reacted by dropping his shirt with a huff and glaring at Bruce.

"Why would I be jealous of Boy Scouts of America? None of _my_ business what you two get up to on your lunch dates."

It was so foolish. Sweet, but foolish.

"Tony, you know you're my closest friend." His first friend in a long time. Perhaps the Hulk's only friend, ever.

Tony, however, seemed to deflate at the confirmation.

"And what's Steve?"

"Another friend."

"But what would you _like_ him to be?" Bruce opened his mouth to reply that what Tony was implying was _nonsense_ , not even worth considering, but Tony steamrolled over him in a rush of words. "I mean, it's not like he's just another friend. You leave your lab to have lunch with him, like, all the time, and you won't stop talking about him." Tony took a deep breath—necessity, and those breathing problems he had claimed. "I'm just your friend, right? But he's—"

"It was about you," Bruce blurted, and then he flushed when Tony stared. "I mean, not exactly. We…just thought you needed a little help. A push." It was hard to explain, especially when Tony was just inches away, wearing a look of confusion that seemed entirely alien on his face.

"A push?" He repeated, and then realization dawned. "A _push_."

"You know. A push to—"

Tony leaned forward and kissed him. It caught Bruce off guard and it landed more on the side of his lips and cheek, accuracy sacrificed for speed. It was still shocking, soft…and wonderful.

"Tony…"

Tony didn't pull back, didn't move away. He stayed close enough that Bruce could feel warm breath on his face, a soft breeze through a wide smile.

"I thought I was going slow. I thought that rushing anything would ruin it, and it's important this time. So important."

It made sense, suddenly. The baseball, the opera, the lunch, the equipment. Most people would send flowers.

"Those were _dates_." Tony nodded, shifted until his leg pressed solidly alongside Bruce's. "I never thought…" Bruce had thought it was just idle fantasy. Very idle fantasy.

Tony disavowed him of that very quickly, cupping his face and pressing closer, sitting practically in his lap.

" _Yes._ It's been you for months. I looked at your file, saw that you liked men too, but that things happened." Tony gave him a look of contemplation, because seduction wasn't necessary and he must have known that. "I notice you aren't exactly running away. No excuses about the Hulk?"

"No. But you're covered in bruises." _And so close_. Bruce was no saint, and there was skin under his hands, hot muscles and bandages the flesh of bare sides. He didn't know when he'd reached for Tony, but he tried to keep his grip gentle. The idea of pulling away never crossed his mind.

"I'd like to be covered in _your_ bruises." Bruce caught his breath, and Tony smiled, living confidence. "Too fast? Too rough? We can go gently, slowly too."

"I thought we _were_ going slow."

"I've always been sort of impatient." Bruce laughed a little at the understatement, and Tony watched his mouth, his throat. Bruce wondered how he'd never noticed, because Tony's gaze said everything. "Come on, Bruce—I don't want to be alone in this."

"You're not."

Bruce kissed him like he'd been wanting to for months, like he'd been wanting to ever since he saw the light of the arc reactor and knew he'd found a friend. Tony returned it like a fantasy, without fear but with passion and enthusiasm. Bruce didn't think he'd ever been kissed like he was someone's world and he didn't think that was happening now, but by God, it felt like it.

Bruce would have been content to remain that way, to kiss deeply and hotly and indefinitely, but Tony's hands never hesitated, seeking what they wanted without thought. Bruce was impressed at how quickly the buttons on his shirt were undone, and then warm, clever fingers were skimming over his chest and along his ribs. The kiss ended, Tony murmuring that he "loved a man with chest hair" and then aligning his lips to the pulse of Bruce's neck while he stroked and petted and made pleased noises in his throat. Bruce enjoyed the sensation for a moment, just a thought of _this is really happening_ , and then he shuddered and reached for Tony's belt.

Tony chuckled, low and dark, and copied the action. He had immediate success with Bruce's zipper, and then his hands—oh, his _hands_ …

"You really are a big boy. God, I can't wait to have this in me." Bruce jerked, and Tony laughed, tightened his grip. "I know, I know— _bruises._ Later, then." He jerked his hand, fingers sliding over smooth skin just this side of too-dry, and Bruce groaned. "This is enough for now, right?"

"Almost." He wanted Tony in his lap, but there were limbs in the way, too much motion to arrange it. He settled for running a hand across the arc reactor, up to cup his neck and hold him in place. Then he slipped his other hand past the waistband of Tony's dark underwear, finding the hardness underneath, the glisten of precum that wet the surrounding cloth. Tony bucked his hips and Bruce twisted his wrist, squeezed his fingers along the shaft. He tried not to be too rough; he didn't know if he succeeded, but Tony didn't complain, moaned even as he sucked his mouth into Bruce's skin. Tony was giving him a _hickey_ , and it wasn't even below the collar. It would show, a sign to all and sundry; Bruce didn't care.

And then Tony was there, kissing him hard and jerking, spilling across his hand, staining the sleeve of his still-open shirt. The sensation made Bruce think of all the things they would do, of the taste of Tony, of things he would know someday. Made him think and groan, and then his mind shut off, giving way to his body. It had been so long; he had forgotten.

When he caught his breath and opened his eyes, Tony was grinning and _licking his fingers_. Bruce was worried for a moment until he remembered that he'd looked into it, that there was no need for concern, and then he was just happy. Happier than he'd been in years.

"Don't you find that disgusting?"

"There's nothing disgusting about you, Bruce. But we'll talk about that later." Tony smirked. "I wonder if I should send Steve a fruit basket."

Bruce chuckled weakly. "Please don't."

Tony continued to smile, but he made no promises as Bruce quickly fixed the few bandages that had come loose. And Bruce, for what it was worth, made no comments about the injuries again. Besides, Bruce had another plan; he planned to make Tony think long and hard about being foolish for weeks to come, as doctor to patient.

Maybe a little sexual frustration would do him good.

********

End

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfills a kink meme prompt, located here: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5102.html?thread=5487854#t5487854


End file.
